


Barry and Me

by TheSeersScrawlings



Category: Bee Movie (2007)
Genre: I'm Sorry, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeersScrawlings/pseuds/TheSeersScrawlings
Summary: You're given an offer you cannot refuse.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draggems also known as egg](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=draggems+also+known+as+egg).



> This is a gift to my friend GG. They put me up to this. Happy birthday!

“We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard,” -- John F. Kennedy

John F. Kennedy. He’s your favorite president, and if he was still alive, you would totally be down to date him. He was a cool dude, and he said many things that were recorded that you listen to on a daily basis. You believe that if you had went to highschool together, at the ripe age of 16, you two would totally have hit it off and become really good friends. Despite knowing almost nothing about this person (and not caring enough about history to look anything up), you are severely infatuated with him. When you think about him, he always talks with a cockney accent and asks not what you can do for your country, but what your country can do for you, luv. This, however, is not a story detailing your love for a dead president, this is a story about another important figure in your life. One that has only up until recently made his presence known to you. This story is about Barry B. Benson.

More specifically, It is about your relationship with him. If you aren’t familiar with who this person is, you are in for a surprise. He is not a person, he is a bee. A hideous anthropomorphic bee that you love. Sorry, this was just the hand you were dealt in life. You didn’t ask to be attracted to abominations masquerading as bees. You are unsure of whether or not this sort of thing is wrong, but you barely care as you scroll through every website you can think of that houses fanart or fanfiction. You spend hours upon hours, poring over the pages, hoping to find something that connects you more to this… Bee. No, this interest is not ‘ironic’. No, you do not need a ‘hobby’. This is perfectly normal, you say to yourself, archiving the thirty-second story you found on AO3. Boy, with the resurgence of this character as a ‘meme’, it’s getting a lot easier to find content. Too bad most of it is ironic and lacks any sort of emotional honesty. You’re much better than all of the fake fans who only like to deride and ridicule this icon. You know him.

This is all just setup, telling you what you, of course, already know about yourself. It’s quite obvious to you, all of these things that some random person is writing about you. You say in your mind: ‘Quit going over things that are obvious, let’s get to how this relates to my husbando!!!1!’. I say to you, please hold on, I’m getting to it.

One day, while browsing your favorite tag on your favorite site, DeviantArt, you receive a note. You never receive notes, as you don’t usually post anything of your own on this site. Getting a message like this, out of the blue, was very un-ordinary to say the least. This peculiarity, however, was quickly overshadowed by the content of the correspondence: 

‘do you want to touch barry benson’s hot stinger?’

This sends your mind reeling. Who could possibly know about your guilty pleasure? Even though you indeed want to touch his hot stinger, very badly, you are reluctant to admit such a scandalous fact to a random person on the internet. You stare at your computer monitor, eyes unblinking, staring at the black marks that eventually swim in your vision against the green background of the delivery system. 

Should you reply? Should you just ignore this attempt at communication? Your head is starting to hurt and there’s a twisting feeling in your gut. You think about how liberating it would feel to tell someone, anyone, about your strange desires. You think about the possibility of anyone you know seeing it… But wait. You never gave anyone you knew in real life the knowledge that this account had ever existed. You think you’re safe. You respond, hands shaking as your fingers fly from key to key.

‘Hell yes.’

Suddenly there’s a loud knock on your door. You jump. Who could be at your door at this time of night?? Your eyes blearily shift to the clock next to your computer. 4:20 AM. Blaze it. You definitely shouldn’t be up this late.

You blink a few times, wondering who it could possibly be. Your parent are out of town for the week, and you didn’t call anyone over. You throw caution and common sense to the side, as it is quite late, and despite the very blatant risk of this being a robber, you open the door. 

Behind the door, you see…  
Nothing.

You look all around. Down the hall, across the hallway. Nobody. You take a double take, just to make sure. Nope. Not a soul around. That knocking was terribly loud, however, and probably couldn’t have come from thin air. Despite the fact that something like this shouldn’t have happened, you cite it as lack of sleep, and move to close the door, before the disembodied voice of Jerry Seinfeld stops you. 

“Hey, down here ya big idiot.”

You scream. Adrenaline pumps through you as you hear a voice that is so familiar yet so strange to you. You’ve heard it thousands upon thousands of times, of course, but there was something about hearing it up close and personal that left you reeling. You fall over onto your fairly soft, carpeted floor from dizziness. When you come to, spread eagle on your own floor a couple moments later, you try to calm your spinning head by thinking of things you like. Granola, bone apple tea, and… Barry… Benson… You feel a very small pressure on your chest. 

“Ah great, look at what you’ve done. Went and hurt that perfectly nice human body you have. A cryin’ shame.”

You look up to the source of Jerry Seinfeld’s voice, and sitting on your chest with his chin resting on the palm of his hands, is the insect of your desires. Barry. You almost scream again, but shock leaves you dumbstruck and wide-eyed. There’s a few moments of silence between you before he speaks up again. 

“What, am I gonna do all the talkin? Alright, alright. I’m Barry, but you already know that.” His blue eyes flick up to your still-glowing computer monitor for half of a second before resting their steely gaze back on your face. You’re glad you’re lying down because your knees would be getting weak at this point.

“Now, I ain't gonna let just anyone touch my stinger, of course. It’s a very intimate thing amongst us bees, yknow. I think. I wasn’t a very good bee. Anyhow, we could get to know each other if you want? Maaaaaybe grab a bite to eat sometime? My treat.”

Unceremoniously, you pass out.


End file.
